


Blue Ribbon on My Brain

by scibfs (bearprincess)



Category: Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (2012), The Incredible Hulk - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-31
Updated: 2013-08-29
Packaged: 2017-11-27 15:23:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/663540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bearprincess/pseuds/scibfs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce should have stayed in India. He should have, but he didn't, and now here he is. He's back in his tenured professor position and he has no idea how that happened--and he has ideas about everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Homecoming

Bruce guesses the trees are the same, as are the marble columns arched around the door. Still, it seems so foreign after a year of nothing but flat tin-roofed compounds and screen doors. Door handles seem like a recent invention. Bruce finds himself pushing through the door all too suddenly, and he stumbles into the lobby. No one sees him falter and brush the startled shakiness off his body; only faculty is on campus right now, and he purposefully came to the building during lunch break anyway.

The key to his office works. Well, that’s good, he decides. It seems mostly untouched, too, which serves to remind him what a hurry he left in. He sights a couple of student papers sticking out from the drawers and knows they’re as ungraded as they were before he left for India. No one asked him about what should be done with them, either because they didn’t want to disturb him or, he guesses (probably correctly), that the grades of all his students were inflated anyway. Like the university’s consolation prize for exposing them to his own mental instability. We’re sorry you had to see that, here’s an A-. Bruce snorts in the pale quiet of his office, and flops back in his overlarge chair. Spires of dust puff out from the pressure. Again he’s reminded of how long it’s been as he watches the motes spiral in the sunlight. He yanks a paper out because it bothers him that he can’t even remember the assignment.

The title is “History of Military Interference in Scientific Research” and he realizes he never assigned this, that some kid wanted to get a pat on the back for shooting the elephant in the room. Repulsed, Bruce shoves it and all the other papers securely back into his drawer, and picks up the model uranium atom on the edge of his desk to have something to fidget with. The electrons really move in their orbits, even though Bruce knows he could never manually make them move fast enough, and that electrons don’t stay in orbitals the way people want them to.

Neither does he, he muses. He imagines he’ll be asked about his research in India, since that was the cover story absolutely no one believed. He doesn’t have research. In fact, his computer was shut off and in a sack somewhere for most of the year. Not many places he could have gotten wi-fi in rural India, anyway. He supposes he could write a couple ethnographies if he really wanted to, but most of what he remembers is blurred together too much. Monsoons. Poor. Rotten-toothed smiles against clay red skin, and beautiful delicate fabrics where they shouldn’t have been. Thick black mosquito nets, strangely misplaced Christmas lights. Sanctuary isn’t the right word, but it comes to mind.

It seems like a week has passed instead of a year. Here, especially here, seeing why is as easy as looking as his bulletin board lined with parts of his case studies. It’s a research project, sure, but it’s grossly personal. He feels like a father who keeps too many pictures of his kids in his wallet and takes too many opportunities to show them off. Only his kids are cancer cells. If he were a better man, he’d call reversing cancer a miracle, but he knows it’s just an incredibly complex chemical process. He’s not in the business of lying.

However, there were plenty of men more than willing to call his research a miracle. In their terms Bruce had found so much more than the right genes and drugs and inhibitors. They called it hope, called it life, called it incredible, and had the money to call it their own. Bruce’s name was on nothing the military scientists presented. Protesting the government was like protesting the government, but Bruce still tried, and that’s how he earned himself the closest thing to an exile possible.

His hands have tightened so much they are now threatening to break the fragile chicken-wire uranium model orbitals. He sets it back on the desk and rubs his hands through his hair. Breathe, he says to himself, and he does; deep breaths that make his stomach swell and fall. The red flushing his skin drains away. Without warning he finds himself missing the cheap beer and fast friends of India, and he knows he would never find the same thing here.  If he wanted to relax he should have stayed. Just a blip, and he’d be off the radar…

He shakes the thoughts away. Dangerous, Banner. The college wouldn’t have asked him back if there was a better man for the job, and Bruce needed the money. He isn’t giving the college the whole story and the college isn’t giving him the whole story, either, but he needs to be here. Here, with his research. With something he could touch even more of those clay-red, mosquito-net lives with. It’s for the greater good, even if it isn’t best for himself, even if he never, ever gets the credit.

Bruce hears a faint knock on the door and straightens up.

“Come in.” The door squeaks open, and Bruce’s heart sinks. “Betty.” Her mousy smile matches her mousy hair, and Bruce watches the blue veins in her ankles twist as she tiptoes around the clutter in his office to sit across from him.

“I phoned the college and they said you checked in. I hope it’s alright that I stopped by.” Bruce knows a train hitting her wouldn’t have stopped her from coming by. He watches her push back her thick headband that even he knows is ten years out of fashion.

“Of course it’s alright.” He smiles with something like conviction. She doesn’t see it, though, as she’s looking at her knees instead.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” He tries to sound warm, or at least tries to make himself stop grinding his teeth. It doesn’t work. “I mean, I don’t blame you.”

“Yeah.” She’s biting her lip in that way that makes Bruce’s pulse spike, and he wishes he wasn’t such an idiot. It takes a while for Betty to say something again. “You missed my graduation,” she says finally, and Bruce is suddenly stunned with the things he missed.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” She smiles, and Bruce smiles back.

Their meetings work outside of time-space continuum; the same rhythm, the same carefulness and distance every time. What Bruce knew about Betty was that she was brilliant in every way he thought a person could be brilliant, and also that she would never say that about herself. When their experiment worked for the first time she was careful to suggest repeating it before reveling.

Bruce pushes a pen around on his desk and swallows. Now or never. “We should… catch up. Get coffee. It’d be nice, wouldn’t it? It’s been so long.”

She smiles and nods, but the smile quickly fades. “It would be nice.” Her eyebrows furrow, tight little creases forming that he doesn’t remember being there before. “You left without saying a word, Bruce. Nothing. I had no idea where you were. I thought—“ She takes a breath, and Bruce can tell the next thing she will say is at least hard for her to say. “It’s not a good idea.”

“Right.” He’s disappointed, but not sad. He thumbs through the course catalog lying on his desk, now an aimless relic. “Was there a point to you coming?” Internally, he winces.

“Actually, yes.” She throws some papers at him, which is a lot more reminiscent of their former office meetings. “I compiled our lab work, dated—“

“Betty.” Bruce leans back from her and rubs the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry. I can’t talk about this.”

“Why?”

“I’ve gotten enough out of line. I’m lucky to be here speaking to you. I’m not touching this can of worms again with a ten foot pole.” He pushes the papers back to her side of the desk with a pen as if to illustrate.

“Bullshit!” Bruce snaps to attention, back off the chair. Despite her outburst, her lip is trembling, and it takes a lot for Bruce to not reach across and touch her. He’s already shit enough at this comfort thing. “This was—we had it right. And they took it from us.”

“Yes. It was an awful thing for them to do,” Bruce agrees.

“Don’t patronize me. I’ve been doing my research, and we have a few options left—“

“No.” He watches her settle back into her chair, her entire body as taut as if someone was pulling a string.

“I guess there wasn’t a point in me coming, then.”

Bruce doesn’t say Betty ‘s name dramatically, or tell her not to leave, or flinch when she takes back her papers and storms out of the room with none of her quiet gentleness. He’s resigned to it. Her leaving is as natural as her coming, and he knows he’ll see her again. There’s not much he takes for granted but he knows a pattern when he sees one. Still, when she leaves, his office is empty again. Way to go, Banner. Talking to her more would have just been pulling teeth, though, and somewhere he knows it. He thinks of when he had to act dentist and use forceps, his tin bowls splattered with blood and rotten teeth. He shakes his head and smiles when lunch is the next thing on his mind.


	2. Square One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce meets Dr. Stark in a one-sided kind of way.

Bruce hates teaching lecture classes. Too much theory without application. He isn't a great lesson planner, either, not like his colleagues.

Besides, there’s too much noise. Gum-popping, seat-shifting, laptop-typing, pencil-scratching, faint-talking, faint -laughing. He hates it. In lab the only noises are the sounds of progress. Everyone's nose is to the grindstone because there is always a lot to get done. In lecture it's the sound of 40 students being bored for 70 minutes with the appearance of being attentive. He knows this; blank stares and nods at his words don’t fool him for a second. He knows because he hated sitting in lecture too, when he could have been in wet lab getting his hands dirty. He does not know how to make an introduction to biochemistry interesting and fun, like the computer science teacher who's rumored to start lecture with a discussion of Harry Potter. He also doesn’t care enough to.

He has no idea why the college is paying him more to teach intro level courses to undergrads when he used to, and would much prefer, doing big projects with graduates. He's still not sure he wants to know.

The first few students filter in. He sees a few familiar faces from around campus, but no one waves and no one smiles. Everyone looks terrified, actually. Bruce wants to laugh but that seems a step too far. The first hand goes up before he pulls up the syllabus on the screen.

“Yes?”

“Can we use our laptops?”

He nods, and suddenly backpacks are being unzipped across the entire room. He doesn’t know why no one did that before the question was asked, and not for the first time he wonders what’s been said about him since he left.

He starts the lecture, and as much as he asks for questions no one seems to have any. He feels like he should prompt for more but he doesn’t know how to do so, and there’s so much material to cover anyway. He’s a lot more comfortable talking in front of people than he remembers being before. Talking to several hundred complete strangers in bad Hindi seems to have helped him beyond what public speaking courses could do. The students begin to relax as he winds through his lesson and he’s glad for that.

For the first time he asks people to schedule to meet with him for no other reason than he wants to get to know them. Class ends as a sign-up sheet gets passed around. Not everything is bad, he tells himself. And it’s true. Maybe being away from the lab would be a good break for him after all. The research will still be there when he decides to look at it again. Betty will still be there when he decides to call her again. For once he isn’t actively worried about it and can be content answering questions about readings not made for undergrads.

And on the first day of the second week, his class is interrupted. Not just interrupted, really; blown out of the water by Dr. Tony Stark. He introduces himself but it seems obligatory. Everyone is bouncing in their chairs at the sight of him and Bruce has never heard of him in his life. Well, to be fair, he has, but just as the author of a couple scientific papers. Groundbreaking, innovative scientific papers not ignored by the media or discredited by anyone else.

It’s fair to say Bruce is jealous. It’s also fair to say he’s pissed off that Dr. Stark is encouraging students to drop biochemistry and take his introduction to robotics course instead.

“Yes, can you believe it? Someone dropped a class I’m teaching!” Bruce wants to punch that self-satisfied grin off his face. The desire doesn’t fade as Dr. Stark (“Just call me Tony!”) continues to talk. He waits patiently, however, arms crossed as he stands off to the side and lets Tony gives his spiel about nanotechnology and futurism. It seems a bit excessive for a class of 18 year olds with no background to Bruce, but he seems to have forgotten what it was like to be a first semester freshman in college. One of the girls gets into the class from her computer and yells out yes like she won a game of bingo.

“Dr. Banner, I’d love for you to stop by my office sometime.” On a cold day in hell, perhaps. Tony holds out a hand and, reluctantly, Bruce shakes it. “You only get to listen to a man this brilliant for 12 more weeks. Don’t give him a hard time.” He waves to his still-captive audience with another radiant smile and finally, finally, his heels pivot towards the door.

Bruce clears his throat and tries to get on with the lecture on HeLa cells, but the damage has been done. There are only 20 minutes left and absolutely no one is paying attention, so he decides to end class early if for nothing more than for his own mental health. What in the hell was that? Who does Tony think he is? When he leaves the classroom he’s more than a little flustered, and his TA is kind enough to bring him his jacket to his office when he forgets.

He decides to Google him. There are hundreds of thousands of hits. A lot are from academic journals linking back to his work. But apparently, on top of getting 4 PhDs and a couple of honorary ones, Tony Stark is low-budget film star and critic. He’s also an infamous womanizer, which he guesses explains the swooning of some of the women and select men in his class. PerezHilton, really? There are so many things to filter through and filter out that it just pisses Bruce off more.

He puts his own name in. Not surprisingly, there are a few thousand more hits then there were before, mostly from sensationalist news sources. He has old journals up from his master’s thesis on radiation treatment, and that’s about the extent of it. Nothing about the sabbatical, nothing about how he likes to fish when he’s not busy. That’s fine with him. He’s never understood the whole “life on display” thing.

He does notice he has a lot fewer hits than Tony. He laughs at himself and rolls his chair away from his computer. Today is not the day for a Google hit dick measuring contest, and he can’t believe he got so swept up in debunking his fellow professor for no reason beyond his own envy. It didn’t help, anyway. He wishes he still smoked sometimes, just so he could taste something other than the copper of his spit.


	3. Protocol

Avoidance is like second nature to Bruce. He knows how to worm his way out of most uncomfortable situations. He's not proud of weaseling out of things; sometimes it makes him feel guilty and at the very least unprofessional. Then he remembers how he got so good at it and how avoidance has saved his life more than once and he cuts himself some slack. If there's a game Bruce is the best at it's self-preservation, closely followed by sudoku. 

His avoidance skills, however, are nothing compared to Tony Stark's hunting skills. Bruce is like a rabbit put out for greyhounds to chase. An aging rabbit with salt-and-pepper fur and a bad left knee being hunted by the sleekest greyhound alive. No matter how full he makes his calendar, Tony finds a spot that he hasn't filled. Bruce's office hours start to fluctuate unpredicatably but it's like Tony has an ear on the inside. Bruce has had to make up more than one half-assed excuse to leave his office when Tony comes knocking. He's printed out enough worksheets to teach biochemistry for the next four years.

Tony invading his classroom was one hiccup. Really, Bruce might have been more peeved than he should have been. Tony only took up ten minutes or so of his time and the lecture hadn't been going well before that. This is such a stupid thing to have to worry about that it makes Bruce incredibly frustrated. He should just give in and meet with the guy since he's been trying so hard but he just doesn't want to deal with it. Doesn't want to deal with how much better Tony is in comparison, doesn't want to deal with how much more interesting his subject can be, doesn't want to deal with the man himself, exuberant and uncompromising. Students are more than thrilled with his presence at the college; he's overheard more than one cafeteria conversation about him. Bruce hates being petty, but he also hates being overshadowed by obnoxious pricks. Nobody asks him about his research any more. Not like there would be anything to talk about, but the principle remains. Tony's robots are scanning rooms and ordering food from Burger King and god knows what else.

Bruce wants to smack himself. He's a grown-ass man. If Tony's game is making him feel like he's conducting a soap opera-worthy reaction to a minor event, it's working. He finally responds yes to one of Tony's emails (based on the volume, probably automated) just to get it over with and a few hours later, the door to his office swings open.

"Dr. Banner! So good to see you." Dr. Stark holds out his hand and this time Bruce doesn't take it. Instead he directs Tony to sit down. Tony slides to the edge of his chair until he's too close to the desk. Bruce leans back from him and crosses his arms over his chest.

Bruce is tempted to ignore him until he apologizes, but he also knows that's not a realistic thing to hold out for. "Sorry for dodging you so much," he says in a not even remotely sorry voice.

"Jesus, you're still peeved about the classroom thing, aren't you? Pepper--Dean Potts, sorry--told me you might be. Look, I'm sorry I'm an asshole." Bruce doesn't know how to respond. Dr. Stark knows he's an asshole but he's not really trying to change it, which makes him angrier than he was before, actually. His brain does this tumbling thing for a few moments and he drowns Dr. Stark out until he says, "Listen, there's a project I need help with and you're the most qualified. I started us on the wrong foot, sure. Typically I'm an excellent dancer, Dr. Banner."

"I don't dance."

Dr. Stark laughs, which makes his face crinkle up and makes him look older and even more attractive, damn him. "I didn't buy into the whole surly scientist with a grudge match thing until I saw it myself. I know you want to help people. I've read your work--everything. Even the ones that got hijacked--they did a sloppy job, by the way. Your stylistic handprint is all over them." Tony pauses, his body swaying in his chair. Bruce knows that Tony knows that he's surveying him, but Tony doesn't let it phase him. "Point is, you're brilliant. More than capable."

"Uh, thanks for that. Why did you come into my office to give me a job interview?"

"Not an interview. You're the only candidate. "

Bruce shakes his head, but he has to smile. Tony is so damnably obstinate it's almost admirable. "What's your proposal?"

Tony details it, having to get out of his chair for portions of his well-practiced speech. Well, he probably had lots of time to practice since Bruce ignored him for three weeks. Tony has enough raw energy to keep Bruce interested, to make him want to follow along. The idea is good. Bruce's drug is able to help stop cancer by building up the immune system, but the side-effects are too strong for it to be risk-free. The technology Tony is proposing is something like dialysis; clean the system gradually to get it working again instead of overloading it all at once. The process would be slower but more insurance programs would cover this if it works. Bruce can't believe he's letting himself think that far ahead. Something about Tony makes him really want this to work.

Tony sits down and loosens his tie. "So?"

Bruce finds himself leaning forward and sits back up. "I like it. Really like it. But--" He purses his lips.

"... But?"

"This can't go like last time. Our data will be shared between us and only us. I don't know how much I can trust you to keep your mouth shut."

Instead of getting angry, which Bruce would have preferred, Tony laughs in that way that makes his whole face crinkle up again. "Nobody can accuse you of being a bad judge of character. But I'm very good at secrets, Dr. Banner. Nothing I've written has leaked before I wanted it to and that's a promise."

Bruce can accept that, even if it feels like a sly dig on his own research. "Another condition: you bother someone else if a kid drops your class." They both smile at that, and Bruce reaches out to shake his hand.

"Deal. I'll draw the papers up and get back to you."

Tony leaves shortly after, which makes Bruce worry he's been razzle-dazzled into something he doesn't actually want to do. It's like a tornado went through his office but nothing moved. Not even the behemoth stack of worksheets on his desk. He starts in on grading them, but is too distracted by the though of being back in the lab soon and working on something he likes. It seems too good to be true. It won't be easy working with Tony but it wasn't easy working with six graduate students either.

That is not a good thing to compare it to. But this is different; he doesn't see how this can go as badly, and he wants to believe that Tony's money will help protect their research. Tony is deceptively self-aware. If he were just an obnoxious prick this would be easy; Bruce would escape and get his own independent research done. But Dr. Stark is congenial. He calls the dean by her first name on accident like he's that familiar with her (though that could be another reason when Bruce stops to think about it). He has a strange but genius way of getting his foot in the door, because Bruce sure as hell hasn't been able to stop thinking about him since he met him.

Why is he here? Why is a multi-billionaire rooting for the underdog? Especially a multi-billionaire who made military technology himself.

On top of this, Bruce is completely unprepared for being fascinated by another human being. He knows Tony is brilliant and capable. It's hard to stop thinking of the possibilities of their project, the lives they could save, the pain they could stop.

It hasn't even started yet but, Bruce realizes, it's the only thing he has to be excited about. He doesn't have someone to come home to in his tiny apartment. He doesn't even have a car--he sold it before he left. He hasn't been fishing since he got back. He hasn't done anything but devote energy to avoiding Dr. Stark and give his students a little too much homework for the month he's been back. The idea crosses his mind and intrigues him - what if Tony made him obsessive on purpose? Dr. Stark had gotten him hook, line and sinker, and there was no way anyone could do that without perfect planning.

While Bruce's thoughts are racing, he finishes packing the papers to grade at home. He checks his laptop before packing it too, and already finds emails from Dr. Stark sharing design prototypes of his machine under a lot of ISPs and protocols. In ten minutes Dr. Stark set up a complete secure network for this project, which is impressive but also like he's watching a peacock fan his tail. Bruce isn't used to having all-access passes to people. It would be smarter for Tony to withhold more and Bruce wants to know what Tony wants from him. For now, he points out some errors in his execution and shoots back some calculations for making it better.


	4. Bookends

Bruce doesn't know when the change happened, only that it shouldn't have. It is one thing to think other people think Tony Stark is attractive. That much is obvious; people fall over themselves when he walks in. But it's another entirely thing to be attracted to him. Bruce is not a very sexual man but Tony makes up for that at least tenfold. He doesn't stop moving, for one, not ever. He keeps music on while they work and he keeps it blasting, swaying his hips and playing air guitar in a way that should be ridiculous but isn't. Even when the music is off, Tony works and moves with a captivating inner rhythm. Smiling comes easy to Tony. Physical contact does, too. He's smooth, Bruce thinks, and he's never extended that adjective to anyone.

It doesn't help that Bruce is behind the computer checking Tony's calculations while Tony does the bulk of the manual labor. With the suit jacket off, it is physically impossible not to watch his arm muscles ripple as he welds and hammers together pieces from scratch. There has to be a more efficient way of doing this, like buying some of the pieces ready-made. Though it’s not like it would be the first time Tony needlessly showed off. Bruce wonders how these machines will be inexpensively mass produced if Tony is custom-making the prototype. Or does he plan to make a profit? Bruce is almost scared to ask.

The worst part by far is the small talk. Bruce is used to working with scared graduate students trying to prove themselves. Tony is already masterful; he could probably weld and tap-dance concurrently, if he really wanted to. Of course, Bruce can keep up a conversation while doing multivariable calculus. Inevitably, there is a lot of time that requires a lot of words to fill it.

Small talk with Tony, thankfully, is very different from “so how’s the weather?” More along the lines of the finer points of biomechanics and why certain alloys would be bad for the body’s chemistry if Tony used them in the model. Eventually, though, ideas are metaphorically or literally hammered down and that aspect of talk winds down as well.

"Why are you so invested?" Tony asks one day, as casually as saying the coffee pot is empty. "It doesn't make you happy."

Bruce pauses his dry work on the computer. "You really want to know?"

Tony shrugs and nods. "Sure. Why wouldn't I?"

"My mom had cancer." It wasn't how she died. Bruce isn't going to get into that with Tony, though. "It's a hard thing to watch."

"So is crippling alcoholism, but you don't see me starting rehab programs." Bruce doesn't know what to say to that. For the first time he looks up from his screen, and the lightness that Tony exudes when he's working is dulled under a layer of very apparent exhaustion. "I guess I mean... why do you still feel obligated? You got fucked over."

"You're a regular ball of optimism today." Bruce takes his glasses off to clean them, though nothing is on them. "Why shouldn't I feel obligated? I can save millions of people and force the hand of insurance companies who want people to pay hundreds of thousands of dollars for basic care. It only makes sense to keep trying."

Tony puts down his tools and stands up, stepping into Bruce's space and putting Bruce on edge in so many ways. "Do you really believe that? Or are you doing this because you don't know what else you would do?"

"Whoa, okay. Where the hell is this coming from? The whole project was your idea and I agreed. Are you hounding me for a reason?" Tony backs off a little. Bruce is grateful even though he should be angry Tony tried to intimidate him in the first place. "It doesn't matter what I think about it as long as I help."

Tony scoffs, which feels much more personal than it should. "You're right. It doesn't matter." He goes back to work, hammer so far above his head Bruce is sure he is going to pull something. Bruce goes back to work as well, solving the problem of how quickly the machine should destroy and replace cells and seeing if he can get the program to use the severity of the cancer to change the pace. It's a tricky problem and one that keeps Bruce interested until the next thundering downstroke of the hammer.

"Did something happen with you and Dean Potts?" Bruce finally asks. Tony is startled enough to hit himself in the thumb on the next stroke. Immediately his glove is off and he's sucking on the enflamed skin as he curses around it. It's comical how easy it is to upset Tony. Bruce doesn't even feel guilty for laughing, to which he gets an indignant shut the fuck up.

"How the hell did you know about that?"

Bruce shakes his head as he keeps smiling. Was it supposed to be a secret? "Call it a lucky guess. A lucky guess that involves both of you being terrible at lying and in each other's offices enough to put two and two together."

"... Fine." Tony isn't trying to work anymore and Bruce isn't either. "So. She just got a gardener, right? And she's pretty good at keeping up." Bruce nods and pretends like he knew Pepper had a house before this point. "Pepper gave her a key her second day on the job. And guess who still doesn't have a key?"

"So let me get this straight. You're either jealous of a gardener, or you're upset with Dean Potts because she doesn't want commitment. Or both?" Tony nods sullenly at the last one. The man had lost sleep over this. It really shouldn't have been half as amusing as Bruce thinks it is. "Have you, uh. Told her?" To this, Tony shakes his head. Not that Bruce expected anything less. "Maybe you should try that. She seems like the type of person who wants you to be upfront with her."

"Why am I even asking you for advice? You probably haven't gotten laid this century."

Bruce laughs outright and Tony glares at him. "To be fair, this century only started 13 years ago." Tony looks at him. Bruce knows the question was intended to be rhetorical, to be a passive put-down. He doesn't play that game.

"She usually is upfront. About sex and work and well, you know. Everything else." Bruce is glad this didn't get detailed because he doesn't want to be jealous, too. "But when I ask about the future or even about dinner, suddenly she has 40 calls to make. I hate going by her agenda." Bruce smiles and nods, biting his nails to keep from commenting. "What?" It's like Tony is digging for criticism. Which. Okay, maybe he and Tony are on the same level in more ways than he thought.

"Just seems like karma. Can you even count how many girls you led on like this?" Tony looks down at his steel-toed boots, which is a no. "You've got it bad, don't you?" Tony nods, now cracking his knuckles. Bruce smiles and suddenly realizes this is the first time he's helped someone else with their problems since... long enough. He feels like a rat, only rats are more emphatic. "I'm sorry you can't throw money at this problem you have."

"No you're not. Don't pretend like you're not enjoying this on some weird personal level."

"Well, she hasn't kicked you out, and she hasn't ended anything. Maybe you should think about giving her some space?"

"What, a year's worth of space? Like you did with Betty. Yeah, I know about that and I know how well that turned out."

"Don't attack me because you're upset. It's extremely unbecoming."

Tony opens his mouth like he’s going to retort, but ends up sighing and pushing his hair back. He musses it up considerably, not that Bruce notices. “I want to do the right thing, for once. But she won’t let me.”

“Right is relative. Sure, _you_ want to settle down and stop being a playboy, but did you ever stopped to consider what she wants?” Bruce notices Tony watching him but doesn’t make eye contact. “Say she wants to have more boyfriends. So what? You aren’t entitled to her.” Tony simply nods and twiddles his thumbs in a display of uncertainty Bruce has never seen from him before. Now Bruce feels a little bad. “I’m only playing devil’s advocate. You should try talking to her before you do anything stupid.” That earns a little smile from Tony, at least.

“Starting to feel like your PhD is in psychiatry and not biology, doc.” Bruce goes as bold as to pat Tony on the shoulder. “Therapy sessions go better with drinks, of which we have none.” Bruce perks up a little. “Pepper did agree to go to the bar with me later with some other faculty. Damage control, I think. You’re welcome to come along.” 

The word no is slamming into Bruce’s skull. He has nothing to say to anyone else, especially not other faculty members who didn’t just start working here and know him too well. “Sure,” is what eventually comes out of his mouth. He cringes and hopes Tony doesn’t notice.

“Great! Pepper keeps telling me to shut up about our project, so you should tell her about it instead to keep me out of the doghouse.” Tony smiles congenially and Bruce is hard-pressed to change his mind now; Tony’s hand is on his arm. “Thank you. Seriously. Rhodey just laughed at me when I told him I didn’t sleep because of that, so it’s nice to have someone who gets it.” Yeah. Must be nice.

After that, a natural quiet lulls over the room. Instead of doing more calculations for the project, Bruce sees if there are any emails from his students or curious TAs or anyone, really. Bruce would be glad for the distraction if one existed. Instead he’s staring at a blank glass screen and Tony’s arms are still visible through the other side. He closes out of the program altogether. “I think I’m done for the day. I’ll meet you at the bar later. Uh. Which bar?”

“Asgard. 350 Mass Ave.” Great. Bruce can take the subway. “We’re going around 10 or so.”

Bruce nods and gathers up his things. He stands behind his chair for a minute. “I’m going to get food. Want to come?”

“Nah. I’m going to finish this up.” Tony’s mood has taken a 180 since the talk and now he’s humming AC/DC as he works. It pisses Bruce off a little that it’s so easy for him to get over things. “Could you bring me back a sandwich, though?” 

Bruce just shakes his head and smiles. “I’m not bringing you a sandwich. The dining hall is 2 minutes away; get one yourself.” Tony actually pouts at him and Bruce laughs. “No sympathy for the lazy. See you at 10.”

“Fine, be that way. See if I ever get you anything.” But Tony already had: new lab, new conversation, new friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry y'all! I had three midterms last week and I was really sick before that. I hope this chapter and the knowledge that I'm already working on the next chapter is enough compensation. :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce goes to Asgard.

Bruce finds the place easily enough. It’s right next to the university, after all. He meant to go back to his apartment but he figured that his work slacks and shirt were fine, so he skipped it in the interest of time. He's really nervous and he knows it; palms sweating, heart thumping--the whole nine yards. It feels completely idiotic to be this nervous in front of a pub called Asgard because it is completely idiotic. He considered skipping out and using ungraded papers as an excuse with plans to make it up to Tony later, but when it came down to it he just couldn't do it. Not since Tony seemed so excited for Bruce to be there.

Bruce walks in. It's loud--nothing Bruce didn't expect. There are a lot of people red in the face and generally mirthful and Bruce, being opaquely bitter, is a little mad they aren't all nervous and tense like he is. He sees the group of faculty members cutting up and smiling at each other in that semi-manufactured way. Tony is the center of attention, talking--because when isn't he talking--and making dramatic hand gestures. Bruce walks up slowly, like he's going to disturb the peace. The other professors stop laughing when he sits down. Bruce looks awkwardly at his knuckles.

"Doctor Banner. So glad to have you." Bruce nodded politely. Dean Potts. Thank God for her. Bruce imagines her kicking each of the other faculty members to smile like they mean it. At least Doctor Selvig is here, albeit a pint too far in. Bruce is jammed between him and Tony. Normally it would bother him to have two bodies pressed into him like that but now it was kind of a godsend, preventing Bruce from feeling excluded. Tony had ordered him a beer, so Bruce sips off the foam.

Bruce takes a breath. He´s been thinking about what to say for a very long time, but he still feels like he´s winging it. “I know I’m not the friendliest guy, but I’m glad to be back.” Empty. Try harder. He doesn’t like these people, even if they’re brilliant and he thinks they’re better than he is. He should have talked to them before, considering he’s been back for months. “I know you all have heard a lot about what happened. I just want to clean the slate—I don’t plan on making the same mistakes.” Now he sounds responsible. Great. Tony claps him on the back, signaling him to stop before he digs his proverbial hole deeper.

A hefty, smiling blonde waiter comes by and Bruce orders a burger because he forgot to each lunch. Since it’s about 11 p.m., no one else orders food and Bruce is left to look forlornly at his plate. He eats in small, calculated bites, like no one will notice the giant burger if he eats it very slowly. It’s so stupid to be nervous about this. He feels glances where there aren’t any and looks at Tony for some stability. Tony is leaning into Dean Potts, though, and Bruce doesn’t have a place to settle. His stomach is churning and it’s his own damn fault for saying something in the first place; no one asked. So stupid, Banner. Jesus, he feels like he’s in school again getting picked on for being too tired to pay attention and give the right answer when the teacher called on him. He’s drowning and breathing hard and no one is even noticing—

“So, Doctor Banner. I hear you and Doctor Stark are doing research?”

Bruce turns to the speaker, a black military man he hasn’t seen before, with his eyes wide as he smiles nervously. “That’s right. I didn’t think we were telling people, though,” Bruce says, casting an accusatory glare in Tony’s direction.

Tony just shrugs. “It’s Rhodey. Of course Rhodey knows.” It’s just like that? Well, Bruce would be lying if he said he hadn’t hinted at it to Betty. Still, it makes him feel worse instead of better. The other professors are chatting amongst themselves about the divulged information and Bruce hates that he can’t quite hear them. He sulks with his half-eaten hamburger and watches the soccer game on TV with feigned interest. So Tony trusts Rhodey. Or Colonel Rhodes, as his nametag suggests. Bruce isn’t sure yet.

Tony kicks him and Bruce startles, forced to notice that Dean Potts is frowning at him for doing the opposite of fraternizing. Goddamn it. Bruce had forgotten how hard balancing all this political-professional stuff was. He tries to smile more and drum up conversation. Eventually he and Selvig get into a pretty meaty conversation about pleiotropic effects of stress, a topic which Bruce could somehow detach himself enough from to discuss. He’s always willing to tuck his feelings away for scientific analysis. It’s especially amusing since Selvig has to cling to his arm and he’s slurring while remembering each specific cortex of the brain. There are a lot of things Bruce missed in isolation and lofty discussion ranks up to top ten, at least.

Bruce notices for the first time that it’s getting pretty late; some of the other professors have already left. Rhodey claps Tony on the back as he gets up to leave and Tony shakes his hand and smiles at him. It’s obvious Tony and Rhodey have been friends for a long time. Bruce wonders why Tony imparted personal information about his relationship to Bruce if he already had a close friend. Dean Potts and Tony are holding hands and smiling at each other and whispering in each other’s ears and generally being in love. Bruce is happy for them. Bruce is only too eager to leave. Between Colonel Rhodes and Dean Potts it feels like there’s not a place for Bruce. He knows that’s ridiculous, but it doesn’t feel like it is now and he has to deal with that. Maybe he’ll go fishing tomorrow, if he’s not too hungover…

“Hey, can you make sure Dr. Selvig gets home alright? Me and Pepper are going to head out,” Tony says. Bruce wants to protest that it’s not his responsibility but just nods because hey, there’s something. He’s so pathetic. Dr. Selvig is happy and smiling and nodding off; won’t be much trouble. “I’ll call you a cab.”

“Oh, uh. Thanks.” Bruce notices that Tony looks a little worried, but he just squeezes Bruce’s shoulder and walks out with Pepper’s arm in his. Slinging Selvig’s arm over his own shoulders to keep him balanced isn’t quite as romantic. Shit. Bruce doesn’t know where he lives and Selvig fell asleep as soon as he got in the cab. Bruce gives the cab driver his address. Selvig can sleep on his couch for the night. It actually makes Bruce feel a little better, like he has at least that much to offer.

Once they get home Bruce half-carries Selvig to his futon and gets him a pillow and a blanket. He’s still smiling, even as he sleeps. He’s always been an easy-going colleague—Bruce has admired him for that. He’s brilliant and well-adjusted, two things that rarely go together. Bruce has a thought and puts a big glass of water and a bottle of ibuprofen on the coffee table in front of him before he goes into his own tiny bedroom to change.

He’s pulling up his lounge pants when his phone rings in his slacks on the floor. Bruce shakes it out of his pocket and answers it.

“Hello?”

“Bruce, hey. It’s Tony. Did you get home okay?”

“Yeah, just got in. You could’ve texted,” Bruce says, which is more accusatory then he meant it to be.

“I know. I didn’t call just to ask that, though. Are you really okay? You seemed off, like, all night,” Tony says. Damn him.

“It’s fine. I’m fine. I just want to go to bed.”

“Right, yeah. Sorry I made you take Selvig home.”

“It’s fine. He’s passed out on my couch.”

“Turn him on his side—“

“I know. He’s not that bad, anyway.” Bruce would also know that.

“So you’re not really… I don’t know.”

“Depressed? Anxious? Yeah, I am. I’m dealing with it.”

“Christ, Bruce, you’re pricklier than a porcupine. I’m expressing concern.”

Bruce snorts because Tony says it like that, like he wouldn’t have understood unless he spelled it out for him. “Well, thanks, but I have a lid on it.” Lying.

“You’re not just alone, okay. You and your sad puppy dog face are going to guilt trip me to my grave.”

“… Was it really that bad?”

“Bruce, you stared at your hamburger for 5 minutes before you ate it. Yes, it was that bad.” Bruce hadn’t realized he’d been that transparent, or that Tony had even been paying attention with Pepper practically on his lap. Bruce hears her voice somewhere next to the phone, and maybe the questions ‘who is that?’ and ‘is that Bruce?’ There is a struggle on the other end of the line. Bruce hears a lot of giggling and Tony telling her variations of “stop trying to steal the phone, dammit, woman.” Dean Potts eventually succeeds.

“Bruce, I have to deal with him now. I hope you understand. Thanks for coming out with all of us; I didn’t know if Tony would convince you enough.”

Bruce laughs and smiles. Of course Dean Potts told Tony to invite him. “Have a good night.” Bruce pauses. “Tell Tony thanks, alright?”

It sounds like Dean Potts is humming. “I will. Good night, Bruce.”

“Good night, Pepper.” She doesn’t correct him. Bruce is left smiling when he finally hangs up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asgard, by the way, is a [real bar](http://www.classicirish.com/) in Cambridge.


	6. Break

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bruce really needs to pull his head out of his ass.

Betty shouldn't like Tony Stark but she does, especially with his head between her legs. She grabs the sheets and she's glad she just got her nails done in red because they look gorgeous against the silk white sheets. Her thighs are sticky with sweat and his saliva but she doesn't feel dirty. She just feels good; really, really good. He stops for a moment to tell her how loud she is and how much she likes it, and every inch of her skin is on fire with lust and embarrassment. He's driving her crazy because he only sucks on her clit long enough to make her legs shake but not to come. Now her sensitive thighs hurt from his scruff rubbing on them but somehow that only adds to the sensation. She gets pushy and shoves her hips down on his face and he stops being a tease to fuck her with his tongue and fingers earnestly. As she comes all she can see are his big brown eyes wide with surprise from how hard she can come, how far her back arches off the bed when she feels this good. He calls her beautiful again but she's only half-sure of what he said because her body and temples are thrumming with blood. She just nods in agreement and he laughs, kissing her red thighs and making her shiver.

Bruce wakes up shaking his head and cursing. This is the most unfair dream in the history of unfair dreams. Why now? Why does absolute sexual need happen now, when he's single (when isn't he, a voice says) and when he's so unstable it's kind of a joke. He could have had a wet dream and it'd be over, but no, he doesn't even get that luxury. Since Dr. Selvig is still sleeping on his couch, he forgoes masturbating to take a very long and very cold shower. Afterwards he scowls at himself in his medicine cabinet mirror. Today he decides to leave his five o' clock shadow because he is a loose cannon and no one, not even his razor and common decency, will tell him what to do.

He goes into his tiny kitchnette to make some eggs for himself and Dr. Selvig. It's ridiculous, but he likes thinking about cooking for someone else, and so Dr. Selvig gets treated to eggs, toast, vine-ripe tomatoes, and two fresh cap mushrooms all sauteed in a pan. It'd be a little better if Selvig were, say, a pretty woman or man, but whatever. Bruce doesn't need a dream dictionary to figure out what it means to have a dream as the object of five years of sexual desire having sex with the current object of his sexual desire, but it's still weird. He plates the food thinking about Tony's goatee on his thighs and wipes his scruffier-than-usual face with his hand because he's getting hot and bothered again which is stupid and annoying. Why can't he just shove his sexuality in a trashcan where it belongs? Sex isn't pretty or exact and he'd focus a lot better without it. Instead he's trapped in a fractal of desire on desire on desire.

Dr. Selvig stirs on the couch across the room and Bruce smiles because the second he opens his eyes he slings his arm over them.

"I have some aspirin and hangover food."

"You are a godsend." Not exactly, but sure. Bruce pushes the food to Selvig's side of the counter and he then tucks in appropriately. Selvig, though having only been up for a few moments and afflicted with what Bruce is sure is a killer hangover, is already brighter and cheerier than Bruce is. Not that it takes much. "So, what was it you and Stark are working on?"

"Oh, um." Bruce knows he needs to figure out how to explain this better one day. "It's sort of like dialysis for cancer patients. Less aggressive and invasive than a lot of treatments. It works with a cyclic--"

"I'm an astrophysicist, Bruce, but I get the gist. Sounds like heavy stuff. It also sounds like you're trying too hard to redeem yourself."

Bruce shrugs and smiles. "Maybe." They eat in relative silence after that, and Dr. Selvig comments on how good the food that shouldn't be for him is over and over. He also thanks Bruce for taking him home, which makes Bruce feel a little weird since it wasn't exactly his idea.

After he leaves Bruce busies himself with cleaning up and, five minutes later, has nothing to do. Except he does, and he just doesn't want to do it. There's a stack of papers sitting high on his desk but since he's been putting off apologizing to Betty for weeks now and in a weird way he was just thinking about her so he decides that she's higher on his priority list. Tony would say his "to-do" list. Bruce rubs his temples. It's one of those "what kids these days doing" situations, except she's not exceptionally younger because she went to graduate school a considerable amount of time after undergrad. So mainly he's being an idiot. An idiot with a cell phone and a laptop and too many options. He decides to send her email because an apology should be longer than a text and calling is too weird.

He starts it about 17 times and presses his finger firmly on delete every time. He pushes through his wet hair with both hands and finally just gives up. "It's not worth it," he says to himself because maybe if he says it to himself it'll resemble the truth. It doesn't, but he still can't write an email. His phone goes off and it's garble from Tony that he can readily transcribe as "I'm sort of loopy and it's too early to drink or smoke so I in all likelihood just had sex." Bruce is so frustrated he actually throws his phone; it lands on his bed, sure, but it feels dramatic and stupid anyway.

He jumps on his bed chasing after it and sends a text to Betty because he can do that without deleting characters. "I'm sorry for being a jackass."

To his surprise, she texts back almost immediately. "I tried to see you in your office 7 times." Yeah, all the avoiding has paid a toll. He cringes a little.

"I've been busy. Can I make it up to you?"

"Probably not, but I want to see you." He doesn't know how he got here or why he deserves this but for once in his life he surpresses his doubts.

"Name the place. Fancy ones with foods I can't pronounce are fair game." As ridiculous as it is he's smiling and he hopes she is, too.

"Does your apartment have foods you can't pronounce? I don't feel like going out somewhere stuffy." That seems like code. If he wasn't so pissed off at Tony he would ask Tony.

"I think my most exotic ingredient is Vienna sausages." He doesn't mention the fact that he just ate on the off-chance he fucks something else up.

"I need your address if you want me to come over."

He hesitates by tapping his fingers on the counter before he texts her his address.

"Great. I'll be over in an hour."

Shit. Okay, he showered thirty minutes ago. He has semi-nice clothes clean and after some soul-searching he finds a bottle of wine in his cabinet. Is that too forward? He should really ask but a) he's still too stubborn and b) Tony isn't known for his subtlety. He doesn't even know how this happened so quickly or why he thinks it's going to be anything but a repeat of last time. He cleans up the living room, puts his extra blanket back in his closet, and stares at his clothes. Looking too nice might make her feel pressured but looking like a slob isn't good either. He decides on a plain purple button up shirt and khakis, but he doesn't put on shoes because he never wears shoes inside if he doesn't have to. Is that a thing he carried over from India or has he always done it? He can't remember.

He's sweating. Well, that's irritating. He washes the dishes from this morning as a way to calm his nerves and also roll up his sleeves because once Betty said his arms looked nice. Yeah, that's not embarrassing as hell. He sighs and wipes his forehead with the back of his hand. The door rings and he jumps in place. That was way less than an hour. He towels off his hands, straightens out his shirt, and beats his hands on his thighs to get out the wrinkles in his pants. Because he hasn't kept her waiting long enough. He takes a deep breath through his nose before he opens the door.

Betty giggles as soon as she sees him and points to his forehead, where he left suds from doing the dishes. He wipes it off with a nervous smile. "Hi," she says.

"Uh. Hello." He stands in the doorway like an idiot before he gains enough self-awareness to step out of her way and let her in. "So. Did you have a good day?"

"Bruce, it's 11." She makes him blush faster than any other human being on planet Earth minus one who shall not be named because he doesn't matter and he is not here and Bruce is not thinking about him. She's looking around and she's smiling. As pissed as she sounded texting he's surprised that she's as easy-going and gentle as ever. Bruce is really confused. It feels like a set-up to something horrible, but then again so does everything.

Bruce bounces on his heels and tears his eyes away from her. "Um, so. Didn't you want to talk?"

Betty shrugs. "What's there to talk about? I pissed you off, you pissed me off, and then you ignored me. And here I am." Bruce watches her demeanor quiver for a split-second, almost like a glitch. "I'm so mad at myself. I can't even stay away for my own good."

Bruce looks at the grains in his bookshelf and says nothing, knowing that she's right and that she should be angry. He doesn't move except to fold his arms behind his back so he can wring his hands without Betty seeing. He feels like a chatised little boy, which only makes him breath harder. He should have known better--hell, he should have done better.

He apologizes under his breath, hot in the face, and turns to get the door. And suddenly, he feels her fingers tight around his wrist and her lips against his own in a hesitant kiss. He kisses her and kisses her and kisses her, and she lets him. She lets him hold her beautiful face and lets his thumbs trace her cheekbones as he guides her around the room by her skull because he can't stop thinking about how beautiful she is long enough to put his hands somewhere that makes sense. He wants it to be right so, so badly. It is right in fragments, like the taste of her flavored lip gloss and the urgency with which she kisses back. They kiss like they've forgotten how to do every single other thing until they're both breathless and smiling at each other.

"Would it be untoward to lead you to my bedroom?" Bruce asks, blushing like a teenager. He wants to kick himself for sounding so robotic, but Betty shakes her head and her pretty dark locks tumble everywhere and it makes him feel a little better about himself.

While they're together Bruce can only think of her as a masterpiece. A masterpiece he's separate from, that he's tarnishing somehow with his body and his needs. She shouldn't be touched, definitely not fucked--he groans as he bucks up with need. She doesn't smile when she comes like he thought she would. When she yells he thinks that he's hurt her, but when he tries to pull back her thighs clamp down and she rides him harder until he's shaking and coming. She shouldn't be messy, he thinks, she shouldn't have to towel herself off like that because of him. Her make-up is in disarray and her pretty curls are every which way. He feels like he should find her beautiful like this, like those people who say they prefer pajamas over lingerie, but all he sees is frustration and tension in her back as she turns away from him to put her bra back on. He tries to massage out an obvious knot (that he had probably put there) but she pushes his hands away with an apologetic smile.

"My skin is too sensitive right now." She gives him a quick kiss on the cheek like it's consolation for not being able to hold her like he wants to. Suddenly he really wants her to leave, but he doesn't say anything as she pulls her pants back on inelegantly. He only pulls his sheet up to his stomach, not understanding her need to cover up immediately.

"I love you," Bruce blurts out. Betty smiles in precisely the way a mother handed macaroni art would and when he reaches to hold her hand, she lets him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm aware of the huge gap of time. I got disinterested in this fic and had to refocus. For you all who are still reading I hope to update more regularly and really dedicate time to finishing what's in my head. Thanks for waiting!


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